What is a man, if not a moment of time?
A moment, lived truly alive,
Soul dancing to the hymn of life,
Pure, lucent, the chains forgotten?
What is a man, if not a drop of rain?
Falling into the sea's might,
Together with so many, and yet alone,
Not knowing, or comprehending, yet putting up a fight?
What is a man, if not a child?
At the quest of a treasure, mundane,
Laughing, crying, at a moments rest,
As the waters of his mind rage disdain?
What is a man, if not a childish dream?
A glimpse of the truth.
A picture, divine.
What is a man if not the truth inside?
What is a man, if not his deepest fear?
Monsters which under the veil, hide,
What is a man, who knows not,
The darkness is all but an absence of light?
What is a man, if not a closed fist?
Clutching, hanging on to an illusion, vain,
"To let go would be absurd", he tells himself,
As the other hand wipes tears from the pain.
What is a man, if not a fool, sly?
Calling the truth too fantastic, the song too sweet?
A fish afraid of the sea, a bird fearing the sky,
What is a man, if not his spirit, indeed?
What is a man, if not a writing in dust?
Words, which in the next moment, cease,
What is his life, if not a delusion?
Erased from existence, come the breeze?
